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Why Hello’s Wedding Coverage Should Spark The Marxist Revolution

Ladybros, I come with tidings of great sorrow. You have actually, definitely missed THE FANCY DRESS PARTY OF THE YEAR.

No, it wasn’t a toddler’s tea party, a masked ball, or a bunch of hipsters wearing cat-face in Dalston. It was the wedding of Sam Branson (er, duh. The son of Sir Richard?) and his wife, ‘the former Isabella Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe’. Because when you’ve got enough money to host a pixie-themed weddingathon on Necker Island, double-barrelled just ain’t gonna cut it.

The event was held in an ‘arboretum’ (NOT a forest) under the theme ‘Enchanted’, and included such heretofore-intelligent gullible sods in tights as Brian Cox (I thought you had a degree in PHYSICS, Brian. I’d have expected this of Fergie and those daughters of hers who wear intestines for hats, but not of you.) They also had tepees.

Meanwhile, Isabella’s father, a similarly deluded human being who owns the house and garden, called it ‘truly enchanted’ and claimed that it had ‘healing powers’ in the most spectacular of ways: ‘A great friend of my father and stepmother lost his eyesight. He spent time in the arboretum and his sight came back.’ Truly fortuitous that the Virgin dynasty would join in holy matrimony with the guardian of a magical enchanted forest. Look out soon for shackled unicorns flying selected Virgin Airways routes, at an airport near you!

Here is an Actual Description From The Article: ‘Outside, actors dressed as nymphs skipped in and out of the bushes as guests followed the path through the arboretum.’ The French beheaded Marie Antoinette for far lesser crimes than these.

‘Dry ice was filtered in before the guests entered the banqueting tepee, giving the place a dramatic, mystical woodland feel’, simpers Hello in continuation, possibly the most hyperbolic way that anybody has ever described smoke in a tent full of food, and despite the fact that everyone knows dry ice at a party says one thing and one thing only: nineties Ibiza club night.

At least one guy you might find snorting something multicoloured out the back of an Ibiza club night was there – James Hewitt Jr himself, Prince Harry, looking ‘mischievous in a fox costume’, which I suppose must have at least gone down better than the last time he tried out fancy dress. After all, the most offensive thing a fox can usually do is keep you awake all night with its hellish shriek of a mating call, which I’m pretty sure he did in Las Vegas already. But all bets are off if he eats someone’s baby.

Meanwhile, Richard Branson came as Robin Hood, which his daughter apparently said ‘suited him rather well’, clearly having never looked into any of his taxation policies.

‘People have more fun at parties when they’re dressed up silly’, laughed Isabella, 33’ (THIRTY THREE?), when asked about the theme. Since her actual wedding was more of a ‘white tie’ than ‘garden gnome’ affair (you know, the one before the one they’re having now. Don’t understand? You’ll never marry a Branson), she added: ‘We’ve been very, very lucky to have not one, but two amazing canvases to paint our party on.’

But not as lucky as the human race has been to benefit from your existence, Izzy (or, to use her catchy boarding school nickname, ‘Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe, Metaphor Extraordinaire’.) Carry on painting those beautiful canvases of experience.

The night was toasted halfway through with the following poem: ‘Pixies, fairies and men in tights/ Let’s raise our glasses and celebrate tonight.’ No boring old ‘Love is patient, love is kind’ or Sonnet 18 for these folk. Somewhere in Heaven, Shakespeare lets out a strangled sob and the Goddess of Love bursts into all-consuming flames. It was only a matter of time before romance was replaced by shoddy rhyming couplets about hosiery.

At least Isabella’s sisters were there to bring some much-needed grounding to the event: Pandora, Georgiana, Olivia, Gabriella, Cressida, Octavia and Arabella. No, seriously.

Sorry can you tell me what is actually wrong with having a fancy dress party? It’s their ridiculously large amount of money they can do whatever the hell they want with it. Or am I missing the point of the article? (I already know along with the rest of the human race that OK! is an appalling publication, but don’t see what’s wrong with a party, or how it relates to feminism/sexism for that matter.

This is also confusing me. If you want to have a fun, entertaining fancy dress party for your wedding, why can’t you? It’s not a feminist or bad journalism issue. The article just seems to snark on someone’s enjoyable day. It’s not what most people do for their weddings, but if you have the money and this is what you’d like, then why not? I really take issue with Vagenda here, it’s judgy and not suppportive of a couple’s choice. It’s not really critiquing Hello magazine in a partcularly interesting or clever way, either, it just picks on a wedding that the author of the article doesn’t like. This wedding may not be to most people’s taste, but clearly people had a good time. It would appear that the author is upset because a group of people with a degree of wealth are spending that money on something the author wouldn’t themselves. A wedding is really just a big party and celebration for friends and family, and criticising a themed wedding is just saying to a couple ‘I think this is ugly and stupid and I don’t like it’. It puts the Vagenda on a par with the judgemental womens magazines it critiques when this sort of thing is published. Lets have some real feminist issues rather than personal opinions about things that really don’t matter. And if you actually rather like alternative weddings and are interested in gender issues, gay marriage, and steering away from the norm, check out offbeatbride.com who showcase all manner of weddings and manage to do so interspersed with measured and interesting articles that address the serious questions of discrimination that women, men, trans and gender queer people come up against in the issue of marriage every day across the globe.

Sorry Vagenda, but I agree with LexiKon. This is a departure from your normal funny, intelligent articles. It’s pretty judgemental for no particular reason. So you don’t like expensive fancy dress parties, so what?

I love fancy dress, but these sorts of extravagant shows of wealth(and promotion of said in ridiculous mags more to the point) may (and should) rub the readership (who may or may not be taxed for that extra bedroom they’ve been luxuriating in…) the wrong way.

I suppose how outrageously wealthy people choose to waste their money is their business, but we should all rile at being invited to worship at the alter of said.

As to the sisters’ names, on the pretentious side for adults of this generation but all of those names are on their way back. Everything old is new again. In 5 years you won’t be able to move for Sophies and Olivias…etc.

LadyoftheLake/LexiKon/thevelvetribbon – I’d agree, except that I found this article utterly laugh-out-loud hilarious (particularly the ‘intestines for hats’)!

In the main, this post is lampooning the silly reportage of Hello magazine – not critiquing the Branson family per se. But even if it was, what’s wrong with a bit of satire at the expense of a ludicrous event whose organisers (let’s remember) sold the rights to the story, after all?

I think there’s room in the Vagenda’s scope for articles that don’t have a specific feminist angle (although this one does have a societal/political one), as long as they’re entertaining.

Yes completely agree! The whole article just reminds me of the ‘women hating other women’ thing that the Vagenda is always saying it’s trying to stop, it’s just an article bitching about someone’s happy day. Also just realised in my previous comment my mistake in thinking the magazine was OK! but is actually Hello – still a crap magazine.

Apparently people with degrees in Physics aren’t allowed to indulge in a bit of fantasy and enjoy dressing up. Really don’t like the judgey tone of this article, everybody’s entitled to different tastes and opinions! I’d love to have this sort of party (although not a wedding), and you can bet I’d sell the rights to it to some shitty magazine to help me pay for it and all!